


small things

by phaenomenaa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, small prompts here & there, some angst too, there'll be some fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaenomenaa/pseuds/phaenomenaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just a collection of little prompts for gerbelg i'll be updating once in a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s easy to discern a lie from her; she has this tell where she touches her neck every time a lie passes her lips.It’s a faint touch, like the dab of a perfume on her soft skin; Chanel N°5—she wears it the moment she opens the box he gifts her. Now, the smell probably lingers on her like the scent of guilt, done so to mask the lips of another. 

He should wonder why she would lie to him, but instead his mind is set on why she would  _hurt_  him. It’s a brief thought, worn away when she steps into his embrace with the quiver of her chin; it’s faintly coated in a light pink, a shade different from the one she wears now, draws the imperceptible curve of a mouth. He frowns over her head, fleetingly thinking of an odd musing, but the familiar rub of her cheek to his jawline is enough to tear him away from it. 

Ludwig can’t shake himself though, not when he’s undressing her and she’s wearing new garments he’s never seen before; the bill can’t come to his mind. He asks her about the expense, and she mentions the gift of a female friend— _pretty, isn’t it?_

His mouth trails lower over the breadth of her neck—there’s the smell of something different, feminine, but  _different_ —and he keeps down her collarbone. She sighs contentedly, seemingly, her fingers soft in his gilded locks. Maybe, he feels, things are back to normal between them, but there’s the drift of that scent again on her, swashed over the plain of her stomach. He freezes, hands tight cold on her hips— _Ludwig?_

There’s another  _she_ present in their story, he realizes. And this s _he_ is not his, but  _hers_.


	2. Chapter 2

She had a mean mouth, or at least, that’s what it seemed like from where he was. It pulled and pushed against the man’s, an inkling of a smile on her cheek, the swab of a tongue on a plush bottom lip. She was fervent and brash, her hands tight at his hips, holding him against the storage room door—as little as she was, she still held some assertiveness over him, even if she was indefinitely small compared to his brawn. He figured her kisses were hot and impulsive.

His were more cautious, gentle perhaps, like the sigh of an instant, held for a moment. Reckless, he figured, was the girl’s way of kissing, and his more pleasant-like. Even if the light fell harsh on his jawline, the softness of his bottom lip was his act, alluring in its tenderness. He grabbed her waist closer, pressed her up against him, his head tilted as his mouth met hers again and again and again in a slow coax.

There was a chuckle, and even from a floor away he heard the faint whisper of a “— _Ludwig_ —”, hushed up like a sin. The man pulled away from her and said, quietly, “I know where you’re trying to make this go, but we’ve got to get back to the meeting—” 

"Oh, please, we can indulge in  _one_  quickie—”

"Mathilde,  _nein_.”

"You know I can make you come  _real fast_.” It must’ve been a close joke between the two, because the man let out a snort; a small, peculiar sound whilst he shook his head. She leaned up on the tip of her toes, pretty pendent pearls on her ears as she kissed him chastely one last time, whining out a playful “ _Fine_.”

She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his mouth, muttered something about having to do her lipstick again, and he smoothed his tie over his chemise. She bumped her hip against his as they moved on down the corridor, heading back to the assembly of nations with evasive smiles, as if their cheeks weren’t red or their breathing not uneven. 

The man above the two sighed; timelessness didn’t seem so bad when you had someone with whom to let it pass. 

He dropped his cigarette from his fingers, watching it fall down-down-down onto the lobby floor. There were days he wished he’d burn out like nicotine-d ashes. 


End file.
